Mr. Wilson has been dead some time; he left me a legacy of five hundred pounds. I believe I have mentioned all my old acquaintances now, except Bill Harness and Opposition Bill. In living long certainly Opposition Bill has beat his opponent, for Harness is in the churchyard, while Opposition Bill still struts about with his hair as white as snow, and his face shriveled up like an old monkey's. The last time I was at Greenwich, I heard the pensioners say to one another, "Why, you go ahead about as fast as Opposition Bill." I requested this enigma to me to be solved, and it appeared that one Greenwich fair, Opposition Bill had set off home rather the worse for what he had drank, and so it happened that, crossing the road next to the hospital, his wooden leg had stuck in one of the iron plug-holes of the water conduit. Bill did not, in his situation, perceive that anything particular had occurred, and continued playing his fiddle and singing, and, as he supposed, walking on the whole time, instead of which he was continually walking round and round the one leg in the plug-hole with the other that was free. After about half an hour's trotting round and round this way, he began to think that he did not get home quite so fast as he ought, but the continual circular motion had made him more confused than before. "By Gum!" said Bill, "this hospital is a confounded long way off. I'm sure I walk a mile, and I get no nearer; howsoebber, nebber mind--here goes." Here Billy struck up a tune, and commenced a song along with it, still walking round and round his wooden leg which was firmly fixed in the plug-hole, and so he continued till he fell down from giddiness, and he was picked up by some of the people, who carried him home to the hospital. I have but one more circumstance to relate. I was one day sitting with Bessy and my children, at the old cottage on the beach, Bramble and my father were smoking their pipes on a bench which they had set up outside, when one of the Deal boats landed with passengers. As they passed by us one old gentleman started, and then stopped short, as he beheld Bessy. "Mine frau!" he cried, "mine frau dat was in heaven!" We stared very much, as we did not comprehend him; but he then came up to me and said, "I beg your pardon, mynheer, but what is dat young woman?" "She is my wife," replied I. "I was going to say dat she was my wife, but dat is impossible. Look you here, sar." The old man pulled a miniature out of his breast, and certainly the resemblance to Bessy was most remarkable. "Now, sar, dat was my wife. Where did you get dis young woman?" I requested him to walk into the cottage, and then told him the history of Bessy. "Sar, my wife was coming home with her child in a brig, and the brig was never heard of. It was supposed that she did perish, and every one else too. Sar, this lady must be my daughter."